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3quarksdaily
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3quarksdaily
An Eclectic Digest of Science, Art and Literature
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August 15, 2005
Monday Musing: Summer Lyrics
It's hot in New York. Deep summer. Dog days. Somehow it all makes me think of Roman poetry. The mood is languid and personal, stuff happens slowly, even the disasters. I'm thinking of my favorite poet, Catullus. I'm thinking of the way he captured the feel of a lazy Sunday of desperate but indifferent screwing with the side door swinging open in a limp breeze. I'm thinking of how he captured in verse the specific insanities of love, when you're finding it and when you're losing it.
It all started in Greece I guess. It started with Sappho and Anacreon and Archilochos. We're talking lyric poetry here. And with the lyric poetry of Sappho and friends something very different from the heroic dactylic hexameter of the Homeric epics came into being. It was intimate and personal. It was passionate and wounded. It was subjective. Some people, like the Hegelian minded philosopher Bruno Snell, decided that the very birth of the subject could be discovered in the transition from Homeric verse to the lyric poets, to the philosophic writing of Attic Greece. Probably that's a little heavy handed and speculative. But it is true that Sappho feels new and different and even modern in a way that Homer or Hesiod or the Hymns don't. Which is not to say that Homer isn't great. Homer is great. Hesiod is great in a different way. But they don't write about the here and now of a hot summer day and the passions and stupidities that can occur within. They don't write, like Sappho does, straight to the heart of subjective experience. The Sapphic strophe bounces along like personal experience.
When Sappho writes the following you feel it in your gut o"
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